


The Lost Seal of Aldburg

by heckofabecca



Series: Across The Fords [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, Plenty of internal monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/heckofabecca
Summary: Now that Gwir's secret has been revealed, Éowyn investigates the truth of her claims.Set immediately afterThe Stepping Stones of the River Isen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a continuation of the story begun in part 1 of this series, following the unexpected arrival of Gwir, daughter of Maderun in Rohan—and all the drama that entails.
> 
> Thanks to @hannah_jpg for encouragement and an extra set of eyes, and thank YOU for reading <3 Hope you're having a great day!

“Well,” said Éowyn. She was sitting in Erkenbrand’s daughter’s house, alone save for her newfound kinswoman. She fixed her eyes on Gwir. “Hello, sister.”

Gwir was pressed against the wall as if to melt into the shadows. She trembled. Éowyn bit back a sigh. Had Éomer ruined this beyond repair?

“Please sit,” Éowyn said. She extended a hand to Ealhwyn’s empty chair.

Gwir edged away from the wall and perched on the edge of the seat. She glanced at the door, dark eyes still wide and breathing shallow. Was she judging the distance, in case she had to run?

Did she think she had a chance of making it?

Éowyn curled her toes inside her shoes until her feet hurt to knock such thoughts away. She wasn’t here to frighten Gwir; she was supposed to be trying to placate her. To keep her from spilling the truth, and to learn more of it. Erkenbrand’s story, as Éomer had related it, had hardly been complete. And Gwir’s claim that their father had actually put the seal of Aldburg on her with his own hands…

That needed confirmation more than anything. Éomer might not care, but she did.

“Well, this is strange,” Éowyn began. Gwir flinched, but Éowyn kept talking. “I thought I would not have a sister until my brother took a wife.” She sat back and leaned her cheek against her hand. “Now it seems I have you.” She kept her gaze on Gwir, fixing her to her seat.

Gwir pressed her hands against her thighs. “You are not my sister,” she said, hoarse.

Éowyn’s eyes widened.

“You are my father’s daughter, but we are not sisters.” Gwir’s hands twitched. She reached up and unbound the red scarf from around her hair. It pooled in her lap. Her black hair unwound and fell against her shoulders; dark wisps fell in front of her eyes. She brushed them aside. “What kind of sisters could we even be? You know nothing of me, and I know nothing about you.”

“And yet you knew who I was.” Éowyn kept her hands very still.  _ Keep calm; don’t frighten her _ .

“There were rumors,” Gwir said. Her gaze slid down, away from Éowyn. “Of the wizard’s spy in your court, and his love for you.”

Éowyn’s face darkened. When Gwir glanced up and saw her expression, she hunched over, afraid.

“I thought—I thought you must be beautiful,” she stammered.

Éowyn closed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps Gwir did know the pain she was causing, but Éowyn prayed not. Whatever the case, she breathed deeply and forced her expression to lighten. “I am sorry. I do not like to think of it.”

“No… Well, later, we heard of your deeds in Gondor. You killed a wraith. But that’s all I know.” Gwir looked straight at Éowyn. “You are a stranger to me.”

Éowyn pressed her lips together. She knew what Gwir saw when she looked at her: a long pale face, golden hair, a fine gown. A consummate lady of the Mark. Éowyn was nothing like Gwir. “That’s true. Well, I—”

“I meant that you are a stranger, and I do not care.”

The words tumbled out of Gwir like water breaking through a dam. Éowyn’s eyebrows flew up. Even if she hadn’t meant to say it—and by her horrified expression, she had not—Gwir meant it, heart and soul.

Yet Éowyn could not blame her. In the face of Gwir’s blunt honesty, Éowyn could only nod. How different were her own sentiments? Not very.

“I understand,” she said.

Gwir sagged with relief. She finally sat back in her chair, drawing her legs up under her and clasping her thin hands around her knees. “I was afraid you would be like your brother,” she said. “But you are better.”

“Careful,” Éowyn warned. “My brother is king in these lands.”

“Tchah!”

“What?”

Gwir huffed. She ran her hands along the back of her head. “Did he tell you what he did? Did he tell you he threw me against a wall? Made me bleed?” She thrust a hand forward.

“He told me he struck you,” Éowyn said slowly. She leaned forward to look at Gwir’s outstretched hand. Flakes of dried blood dusted her fingers. Éowyn swallowed and met Gwir’s accusing eyes. “I am sorry.”

“Being sorry is nice,” Gwir said. “But I don’t care if you are or not. All I want is to go home, with my birthright.” She wiped her hands on her red scarf and stood up. “If you want me to forgive your brother, get him to give back what’s mine.” As she wrapped her scarf around her hips, she lifted her chin. “I will not go home without it.”

Éowyn blanched and jumped to her feet. “That is not for you to decide,” she said sternly. Inside, she quaked. Did Gwir have no self-preservation at all? She was as foolhardy as—

As Éowyn had been, when she disguised herself and rode off to die.

Éowyn sighed. She had never had such a birthright. Then again, she had never needed one. Gwir’s circumstances were altogether different. Éowyn tried to imagine it. What was it like, to have a face that was a constant proof of the enemy blood running through your veins? To know that your father was an enemy, and an enemy lord at that? And to know that your mother had actually lain with him?

“Gwir, did your mother… did she know of my mother? And Éomer?”

Gwir blinked, and Éowyn flushed. She hadn’t meant to ask such a question. A long minute passed while Gwir adjusted her belt and Éowyn pressed her clasped hands into the pit of her stomach.

“Yes,” Gwir said finally. She looked down to straighten her dress with a frown. “She knew. But it wasn’t her job to keep him faithful.”

“I never said so,” Éowyn said. She sat back down heavily and tucked her loose hair behind her ears. “Why do you need it so badly, Gwir?” No answer came, and Éowyn slapped her thigh in frustration. Gwir flinched away; her eyes darted to the door. Éowyn groaned. “Béma! I am not going to hurt you. But my brother will not give it back. There is no way that—”

“Without it, I am worth  _ nothing _ ,” Gwir blurted. She touched her neck, feeling for a necklace that wasn’t there. “Perhaps you Strawheads have different customs, but a birthright is everything. Especially to someone like me.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I sometimes think he must have been mad. How could he have given it away? My mother made it sound…” Gwir trailed off. Her dark eyes filled with tears, and she blindly felt for the wall. She pulled her loose dark hair in front of her face, shielding her from Éowyn’s pitying gaze; her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Éowyn’s heart sank. How could she refuse such a pathetic picture? She wasn’t sure if knowing that Gwir’s desperate need for the seal was well-founded made things better or worse. If it had been only a matter of greed, perhaps Éowyn would have been glad to send her away empty-handed. Now…

"I will promise nothing I cannot guarantee,” she said, “but I will endeavor to get it back to you with all my power."

Gwir’s face lit up, though she did not smile, and in that moment Éowyn saw for the first time a hint of beauty in her dark face.

* * *

 

 

Éowyn’s conversation with Éomer was very short.

“I will not give it back without proof I can believe,” he said. He twisted their father’s ring around his finger, his eyes bright with determination. “And I have no wish to suffer her presence for long.”

Éomer turned on his heel and strode off to meet with his council. Éowyn lingered in the hall, biting her lip. Now what?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éowyn meets with Erkenbrand.

The midmorning recess of Éomer’s council granted Éowyn the chance she needed. She found Lord Erkenbrand mulling on the back terrace, staring out past Meduseld’s gardens and training grounds to the newer part of the city.

“Westú Erkenbrand hal,” she called.

Erkenbrand turned, his thick eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of her in the shadows of the doorway. He bowed deeply. “Good day, my lady.”

Éowyn stepped into the sunlight and joined Erkenbrand. She surveyed the scene before her. There was a gardener tending the hedgerows, and the training grounds below the gardens were full of boys and men. From her view on the terrace, she could see pairs of youths sparring as a limping man in his sixties walked among them, occasionally pausing to bark advice. The blunted swords glinted in the sun. Beyond that group, a few children, between five and eight, watched closely as a young rider slowly saddled a gentle mare. Éowyn smiled, remembering her brother showing her the same thing around that age. Beyond the grounds, she could just make out the bustle of the market between the cottages and larger homes to the north.

Finally, she turned to look at Erkenbrand. His nervous gaze surprised her at first. She had rarely seen him made so wary by her presence. Yet when she recalled her errand, she understood, and her smile faded. A cursory glance around told her that no one was in earshot.

Erkenbrand said, “Have you come about—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. She glanced behind her again; still no one was there. More quietly, she asked, “Did my father give Gwir the seal of Aldburg, Lord Erkenbrand?”

“I assume so,” Erkenbrand said, surprised.

What did he think she was there for? Éowyn crossed her arms and stared at the training field. If only all this was as simple as winning at swordplay!

“You believe her, that she had it from his hands?”

Erkenbrand spread his hands before him in a shrug. “She is who she claims to be,” he said. “I see no reason to doubt the rest of her tale. She would have to be a better liar than I suspect her to be.”

“But you have no proof of her claim.”

“No. I never saw Gwir before she appeared at the fords.”

Éowyn chewed her lip, thinking. “What about her mother?” she asked. “He might have given it to her, before—”

“No, my lady,” Erkenbrand said. He turned to face her, his gaze stern. “Your father may have let his passion overtake him in one way, but his seal was no trifle.”

Éowyn frowned. Erkenbrand was the only person that she knew had seen Gwir’s mother, and he was perhaps Gwir’s staunchest ally in Edoras. Elswide might have been more friendly, but she had not stood between Gwir and an enraged Éomer. If he did not know…

“Then how could Gwir have gotten it?” she wondered aloud. “When could she have met my father?”

“I know nothing for certain,” Erkenbrand said, “but I believe he met Gwir’s mother a second time.”

“What?!” Éowyn flinched. Once was bad enough. Twice…

“Aye,” Erkenbrand said. “They had a second meeting, a year later. Two weeks after Midsummer, the year before you were born. But I was not present. I could not vouch for what happened.”

“Then how do you know they met?” she demanded.

Erkenbrand twisted his lips. “Éomund only ever spoke vaguely of his purpose at the fords, but it did not take much to guess at his reasons for going. A year after their first meeting… He had no true business there. It was too much of a coincidence.” After a pause, he added, “I was surprised he came back that same day.”

Éowyn’s face burned at the implication. “Enough, lord,” she hissed. “Do not malign my father so.”

He made no response, only pursed his lips.

She squeezed shut her eyes. Éomund had been the author of his own denigration; nothing Erkenbrand said would change that. “Forgive me. That was unfair.”

“All is forgiven.”

Erkenbrand’s easy acceptance was a gift, and Éowyn pressed his arm in thanks.

“That meeting… Gwir would have been born by then?” Éowyn asked. Erkenbrand nodded. One year later? Gwir would have only been a few months old, but if Erkenbrand was right, she might have met Éomund then.

“Aye, she would have been a babe then. But I have no idea if she was there.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Who would? Is there anyone who might know, lord?” Éowyn stared hopefully at Erkenbrand. His reluctance was clear, but under her pleading gaze he weakened.

"The only man who might know for sure... well, he might not care to speak of it, my lady. He never does like to talk much." Erkenbrand tugged on his beard. “Your father did not go to that midsummer meeting alone. But his companion is no gossip.”

"Clearly not! Whom do you mean, Lord Erkenbrand?" Now that he had teased the existence of a witness, Éowyn fixed her sternest gaze on the marshal.

Erkenbrand had little resistance left in him. He only heaved a sigh. "Peada," he said.

Éowyn's eyebrows shot up. Peada? Peada, the same man who had taught her and Éomer—not to mention every other well-born child in Edoras—how to swing a sword? She turned back to stare at the old man limping among the sparring youths on the training field. _He_ had been the man who had been witness to her father’s second indiscretion?

Her incredulity must have shown on her face, for Erkenbrand winced and began to explain.

“Before he was injured and came here to work for Théoden King, Peada was one of the best soldiers in the Mark. He was made available to anyone with a particularly important errand. Théoden and Théodred used him often. He assisted me in a few negotiations with Dunlendings, back before the war started in earnest. Once, we were caught in an ambush, and only Peada’s quick work of them saved my life. And he kept many secrets. When one of your uncle’s early advisors was working against him, Peada was sent into his confidence. The man never knew Peada’s true allegiance, not even when he was exposed.”

Éowyn’s mouth had fallen open in shock. Such deeds deserved notice, and yet she had never heard anything of them.

“Why was Peada never recognized for his great service?” she asked.

With a shrug, Erkenbrand gestured around them at the empty terrace. “I have no qualms telling _you_ of his deeds, my lady, but old grievances are not soon forgotten. There are too often sons and grandsons harboring ill will for a decades-old crime.”

That made sense. Memories were long, dark things. How many of her people still shook their heads at the thought of her Gondorian grandmother, whom they blamed for her grandfather’s long absence from the Mark? Even folk who had been born after Thengel’s death were hesitant to speak too highly of the men of Stoningland. Though the renewal of their alliance had put some of those prejudices at bay, there were holdouts.

But that was beside the point.

“My father?” Éowyn prompted. “What was his business with Peada?”

Erkenbrand shrugged. “Peada is discreet. Once I understood your father’s errand, I would not have let him go alone. I was half convinced the woman was a witch.”

_The woman_. “Maderun,” Éowyn said. “You saw her. Did you speak with her?”

“I did,” Erkenbrand said, a trifle bewildered. “I was there when Éomund fished her out of the Isen. Only a few of us knew her tongue.” He blushed. Was that shame? “But she was no witch, whatever I suspected at the time. She was only a brash girl, surrounded by enemies.”

“Was she really so beautiful?”

Erkenbrand let out a slow breath. “At first, no. She was scraped up, and filthy from the river. But once she was clean and better dressed…” He shook his head, searching for words. “She could have been a queen in another life. And she charmed us, once she realized she was in no danger. One lad hammered his thumb at the sight of her. Gwir looks enough like her, but she is nothing to how her mother was.”

Éowyn crossed her arms, hard. She wanted to ask if Maderun had been worth it, but the only person who could have answered that was long dead.

She wondered what her father would say, if he were here now.

“She does not seem much like Fæder, either,” she said at last.

“When she smiles, she does.”

Éowyn had no response to that. Gwir had not once smiled in her presence. Her chief expressions had been wariness and fear and determination. No hint of joy had crossed her face. Éowyn had wondered if she’d always been so unsmiling, but no. Her presence was what stunted Gwir’s happiness.

She sighed and pressed her hand against her temple. There was no easy solution, was there? Gwir was desperate to regain the seal of Aldburg, but Éomer was loath to give it up. He had insisted on proof of Gwir’s claim, and Éowyn could hardly blame him. Meanwhile, Gwir was unlikely to leave without her supposed birthright—but her continued presence would only lead to gossip and suspicion. What’s more, Éomer was the rightful decider of Gwir’s face. She _had_ flaunted the laws of the Mark by coming here, and Éomer was king. Gwir couldn’t leave even if she wanted to, not with Éomer’s approval. And he had not given it.

Erkenbrand gently pressed his hand to her elbow and caught her eye. “Do not overburden yourself, lady. This is easily resolved.”

“Oh?”

He nodded firmly. “Gwir wishes very much to return to her home and people. If she is granted safe passage, I will send my own men to escort her to Dunland. She is not a gossip. No word of this will get out; I am sure of it. She can be gone from here before dawn tomorrow.”

“Would that I could do such a thing,” Éowyn said. She twisted her lips into a sad smile. “But I will not gainsay my king.”

With a sigh, Erkenbrand nodded. “I cannot fault you there, my lady. If there is nothing else, the council…”

“No, no.” Éowyn waved Erkenbrand away. “Thank you, Marshal.” But Erkenbrand had only gone a few paces before Éowyn called him back. Her stomach churned, but there was more she wished to know.

“I ask you as a friend, lord,” she said, and touched his hand until he looked her in the eyes. “Did my mother know of all this? Did he ever beg her pardon?”

He winced. “I know not. But I suspect no.”

“Why?” Éowyn’s heart sank. Her father had done wrong by her mother, and he had never begged her pardon. Was he craven?

"I doubt you would have ever been born, my lady. Your mother was not a forgiving woman. I think your brother takes after her in that regard. He does not suffer fools or betrayal lightly."

She shook her head mutely. Éomer did not wish to suffer Gwir, and what was she but betrayal made real?

Erkenbrand regarded her with a pitying gaze. “I do not know if this will be any comfort, lady, but I doubt your father thought of it much after his return. He had his family and his duties, and he was not often called back to the Fords of Isen."

“Béma be thanked for that much, at least,” she muttered. With a sigh, she crossed her arms over her stomach and forced a smile. “Thank you, lord, for all you have done.”

He bowed. “I thank you, and I beg your pardon for whatever pain I have caused. I am sure it is not none.”

Erkenbrand strode back to the council with quick steps, and Éowyn stared after him.

_Aye_ , she thought. _It is not none._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éowyn talks to Peada.

Erkenbrand had not given Éowyn the answers she craved, but he had given her the name of a man who could. She watched the men and boys in the training ground for some minutes more before sighing and heading down the back steps of the terrace, through the terraced garden, and inside the fence into the training ground.

Peada, of course, had seen her coming. He called the training to a halt, though everyone had stopped as soon as they spotted her.

“My lady, have you come to favor us with your skills?” Peada asked with a bow. The boys muttered hopefully, their eyes bright with anticipation.

But Éowyn was not dressed for combat. Her fine gown would rip as soon as she began.

“Alas!” she said. “I have only come to beg an audience with my former master. But I shall come again soon to train with you.”

“Hear that, lads?” Peada said to his students. “No time to dawdle. When Lady Éowyn comes, we will see how long any of you can last! Back to work!” He turned back to Éowyn. More quietly, he said, “We can speak at luncheon.” His eyes narrowed. “But you will want to talk in private, I think. After, then. Good day, my lady.”

What had he heard? Did he know who had come? He must. But with so many eyes on them, Éowyn dared not ask. She only thanked him and went back to the hall.

\---

The next hour crawled by, and even the short midday meal seemed to last forever. Éowyn ate little, and once she was done, she tapped a frantic beat on her knee as she waited for the meal to end. Only when Éomer glanced at her with raised eyebrows did she subside.

As soon as the servants came to clear plates away, Éowyn stood and caught Peada’s eye. He came up to the dais at once.

“Hail Éomer King. Hail Lady Éowyn.” He bowed. “My lady, I am at your disposal.”

“Oh?” Éomer turned to her, bemused, but she waved his question aside.

“Later, Éomer,” she said. “Thank you, Peada.” She took Peada’s proffered arm and led him away, dodging any questions from her inquisitive brother.

As soon as she and Peada were both seated in her solar, Éowyn fixed her gaze on him. Peada smiled. He looked so innocent. Éowyn once again marveled at Erkenbrand’s tale of Peada’s ruthless efficiency and countless secrets. “How can I help you, my lady?”

Was he going to make her say it all aloud? Very well.

“Lord Erkenbrand told me you were with my father when he met Maderun of Dunland at the Fords of Isen,” she said. Her voice was steady, though her heart thudded in her chest. “Is this true?”

“I know no Maderun,” Peada said.

Éowyn frowned. That was no lie, and yet Erkenbrand had not lied either.

Peada sat forward in his chair and gazed searchingly at Éowyn. “What do you really wish to know, my lady? I do not like to speak of the things I have seen, not if there is no need.”

“There is a need,” Éowyn snapped.

No need? How could Peada say such a thing? All these years, he had kept her own father’s secret from her and Éomer. Perhaps he had been right to do so—there would have been no point, before now—but he ought to have come forward as soon as he heard of Gwir’s arrival. He could have explained everything. Éomer might have been spared the grief of succumbing to his rage.

With all his work, had Peada never understood the suffering of a betrayal?

Éowyn took a slow breath. She trapped Peada with her sternest gaze, though the man seemed no more perturbed by it than a babe. “I need to know. Tell me everything you remember.”

Peada tilted his head to regard her. She did not waver or back down, even when his gentle face pinched into a slight frown. Eventually, he sighed and passed a hand over his face.

“I remember it all. But I never took joy in knowing what I should not, and that was my lot in life in those days.” He shifted in his chair to stretch out his bad leg. “Here it is, in short: I went with your father to the Fords of Isen two weeks after Midsummer the year before you were born. We waited for many hours, until late afternoon. Lord Éomund and the woman met in the middle of the river and spoke. The woman went back to shore to fetch the babe, then returned to speak again with your father. Then they parted. It was no more than a quarter of an hour. Less, I imagine.”

Éowyn opened her mouth, then closed it. That was not what she had expected at all. She hardly knew what she had expected—a passionate reunion? A repeat of what had happened the first time? But they had only talked.

“Did you hear what they said?” she asked.

“No. At one point your father did hold the child. The woman shoved the babe into his arms. I was afraid it would fall into the river, but your father had a firm grip.”

“That he did,” she murmured, then shook her head. This was not the time to reminisce. Gwir had begged for the ring back. Peada was likely the only man who could say for sure if her claim about Éomund giving her the seal with his own two hands was true. “Did Fæder give the babe his seal?”

Peada’s eyebrows shot up. He rubbed his mouth, frowning. His eyes grew distant as he tried to remember. “I do not know,” he said at last. “It’s possible. But I know not.”

Éowyn sat back, disappointed. She had been hoping Peada could corroborate Gwir’s claim. Now all she had was Gwir’s word—and the chance of convincing Éomer to relinquish their father’s seal on her vague claim alone was slim indeed. After all of the shocks of the last day, he had his hands on the one good thing to come out of it.

“Did she bring it with her?” Peada asked.

She started. He had not had any questions before now. “She did,” Éowyn said. “Éomer has it now.”

Enlightenment dawned in Peada’s eyes. “I wondered what new trinket the king had to twist around his finger so vigorously.”

Éowyn sucked in a breath. Had others noticed?

“I was not close enough to see it myself, but…”

The implication was clear. Éomer’s new ring was bound to be remarked upon. And not all people were as discreet as Peada.

“Gwir wants it back,” Éowyn said, hoping to change the topic.

“Ah.”

Peada stroked his close-trimmed beard and sat back in his chair. Éowyn knew he understood her dilemma. She could practically feel his brain working through solutions, even if it was unlikely for him to suggest any aloud.

Béma bless Peada, she thought. There was comfort in knowing she could trust the only other soul who truly understood. The two of them sat in silence, their gazes occasionally meeting as they thought.

“I will try and speak to her myself,” Éowyn said at length. “Perhaps she will tell me more if I press her.”

“Aye,” Peada said. “I would wager she knows more than she has told you, if I were a wagering man.” A light smile flitted across his wrinkled face. “I would certainly never wager against you, lady.” He glanced at the door.

Éowyn realized he was trying to leave. “Forgive me,” she said, “I am keeping you from your work.” She rose.

Peada made his way out. “Don’t forget to come and give my students a beating sometime soon,” he said. “They could use the practice. And so could you! Who knows what strange creatures lurk in Stoningland.”

“Good day, Peada,” Éowyn said, laughing. “I shall come!”

She shut the door behind him and leaned against it, head bowed. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain, and her smile faded.

Peada had been with Éomund at that second meeting, but Éowyn had no more of the answers she needed than she’d had before.

She would talk to Gwir, like she’d said to Peada. He had seemed to think it a wise choice, and she had always trusted his advice. Even if his former line of work had come as a surprise, he had certainly never willfully deceived her. All of the secrets he had kept were for good reason.

Éowyn reached for the latch, but her hand fell back to her side.

Going to Gwir again was impossible. Discretion was key, and the more time she spent with Gwir, the worse things would look. Even if people only thought she was an emissary, it wasn’t Éowyn’s place to visit her. The Dunlendings were still the Mark’s enemies. However much, and however quickly, she wished the situation resolved, she knew that she would have to find another way.

Éowyn felt for the first time since her return to Meduseld that she had been trapped. What power did she have here? All of this waiting and secretive questioning went against her nature. She had suffered through years of quiet patience at her uncle’s side. With Éomer as king, she had hoped to avoid more of the same.

If only he would give up the seal! Gwir could go home, and they need never think or speak of her again. Was one ring worth the anxiety her presence necessitated?

She groaned and flung herself back in her chair. To Éomer, of course the ring was worth it. What did he care for Gwir’s feelings and future? He only wanted her gone, and the sooner the better. Éowyn had told Erkenbrand it was for Éomer to send Gwir away, but the truth was that her brother would be thrilled to see the back of her.

No, it was only Éowyn’s pledge to try and get Gwir her birthright back that kept her from encouraging Éomer to send her west at once.

If only Faramir were here! He could discern the truth from Gwir’s face alone. But Éomer would hardly take kindly to that. Faramir was not his brother yet; such private business was, at least for now, for Éomer and herself alone. It would take time for her brother to be fully at ease with Faramir knowing all, but then again, they would be at a distance.

Not for the first time, Éowyn wondered how her brother would fare when she left the Mark for Stoningland. He had his marshals and lords, his chatelaine and his steward—he even had some true friends still alive after the war. But did he trust any of them enough to air his worries as he did with her? She hardly knew.

What would have happened if Gwir had not come until she was gone?

Éowyn gulped. _That_ scenario did not make a pretty picture. She knew her brother’s rage as well as anyone. He may never have recovered from it, or from his horror and worry. No one could have reassured him as she did that he was not doomed to follow in their father’s footsteps. Perhaps if he’d found a wife… But she would have to be the right woman, and Éowyn did not think he had met such a one yet. She’d certainly never seen him as comfortable with another young lady as he was with her.

A knock at the door disrupted her thoughts.

“Enter,” she called.

Éomer’s squire entered and bowed. “My lady, Éomer King asks for you to join him for a ride before dinner. Will you?”

Éowyn forced a smile. “Of course, Wictred.”

Once the squire was gone, Éowyn went to her bedchamber and began to unlace her dress. Éomer had given her a fine set of riding clothes—trousers and a long, embroidered tunic—that gave her more freedom than her usual gowns.

She sighed as she pulled the trousers over her stockings. Her wedding had been set for spring, and it was already October. She had less than six months left with her brother, and then she would be a woman of Stoningland and he would be alone.

Gwir’s dilemma be damned. Éowyn was going to enjoy every minute with Éomer that she could.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éowyn and Éomer go riding together; a conclusion is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the last chapter of this part of the story. Hope you enjoy!

Éowyn was happy to be out again. It had been over a week since she had been riding out of the city, and since then her steed Græggast had only been exercised in the paddocks by the grooms. Her horse was lively, and his excitement spilled over to his mistress. Éomer was happy, too. His grin flashed in his beard as he and Éowyn raced along the banks of the Snowbourn.

Once they had slowed to a walk, Éowyn nudged Græggast closer to Fýrfót. Éomer’s stallion had come out of the war as unharmed as Éomer himself; Éowyn’s steed, Windfola, had never been recovered. Windfola had fled in fear from the Witch-king and his fell beast. Éowyn hoped the horse was still alive.

“What business did you have with Peada today?” Éomer asked.

Éowyn winced; thankfully, Éomer did not notice. “Nothing worth mentioning,” she said. _Yet_ , she mouthed. “How goes your council? What news from the Deep?”

“Not now, Éowyn,” he pleaded. “Let us talk of something else.”

“As you wish,” she said, amused despite herself. It seemed neither of them had the heart to dwell on such subjects. “What would you speak of?”

“Tell me more of your trip to Aldburg. How is our uncle and his family?”

“Cearl is doing well,” she said. “He still has all his wits, though he is slower of speech than he once was. Our cousin Eilífr does much in his stead, but Cearl still holds grievance day himself once a month. He has been setting terms for the merchants to use, now that we will have more trade with the south.”

“Did you see the terms?” Éomer asked.

Éowyn shot him a wry look. “I thought you wanted to talk of something other than that, brother.”

He laughed and ran a hand along Fýrfót’s braided mane. “So I did. Thank you. How are Eilífr’s sons and daughters?”

“Those that I saw are all well! You know Ceolmund, Eilífr’s eldest, is in Elfhelm’s éored. I did see Hathored and Canulf. Hathored lives in the village with his wife; they’re expecting another babe. And Eilífr’s daughters are all well.” Was it worth mentioning that Eilífr’s youngest daughter was unwed and well-favored? Éowyn gave her brother a careful look. Éomer looked far more relaxed than she had seen him in weeks, but that would surely change if he suspected any ulterior motives. Not worth mentioning, then.

“How is Canulf?” Éomer asked.

Éowyn’s mouth twisted. “He is as well as can be expected.”

“Can he ride at all?”

“Éomer, he has only one leg. Of course he cannot ride.”

Éomer sighed deeply. Éowyn looked at him with pity.

Canulf was close to Éomer in age. He had ridden south in the muster, as had his brothers. One brother had perished at the Black Gate; two had come out mostly unscathed. But Canulf’s leg had been trampled by a terrified horse—from which side, no one knew—and it had been amputated in Mundburg. While Éowyn tarried in the Houses of Healing after the final victory, she had spent nearly as much time sitting with her distraught cousin as she had walking in the gardens with Faramir.

Éomer, of course, took Canulf’s hardship upon himself. His honor and respect for his fellow Éorlingas made Éowyn proud, but she worried that he drew the burden of his people too heavily across his shoulders. And hadn’t they both wished for simple pleasure out of this ride?

“Canulf cannot ride, but he has found other ways to fill his days,” Éowyn said. “He has been learning to write. He helped compose the agreements made with traders from the south.”

“That is something, at least. Though there is little enough honor is such work. We are not a bookbound people.”

“No,” Éowyn said slowly. “But there are always letters to be written.” She reached out to shove Éomer’s arm. “I will expect one from you as often as possible, brother! So do not slack!”

“Ha! I will try,” he said. “But do not expect much eloquence from me. I have little enough time to myself as it is!”

“Come now,” she chided. “I would not take you from your duties, but by next spring I am sure your worries will have lessened.” More quietly, she added, “And I will miss you, Éomer.”

Éomer reached over and gripped her hand hard. He caught her gaze and held it. “I will be far more bereft than you. Sometimes—” his eyes laughed all of a sudden— “I wonder if your betrothed bewitched me into giving you up!”

They both laughed at that. Éowyn gave his hand a last squeeze and retook hold of her reins. She was glad, glad to be with her brother with the weight of—

Of Gwir.

Her gladness turned to ash in her mouth. How quickly her troubles emerged from slumber! Would they always be so?

“What is it?” Éomer asked, eyebrows drawn with concern.

“Nothing,” she managed, but Éomer waved that away.

“Of course it is not nothing! Tell me, Éowyn.”

She sighed and checked that their guards were out of earshot. “I did not want to speak of it, but I will not refuse you. Gwir troubles me.” Éomer’s face tightened; he looked ahead and said nothing. “I would have her gone, but I promised to try and redeem her birthright for her.”

“She cannot have it, Éowyn,” Éomer snapped. He twisted the ring around his finger. “It is not hers!”

“Well, maybe it should be!” she cried. “People have seen you spinning it around your finger. Do you think they will not speak of it? You are a king now! Everything you do is suspect. It was so with our uncle, and it shall be with you!”

Éomer glanced behind him. “That is nothing to do with the seal!”

“It is _everything_ to do with it,” she argued. “A Dunlending with blood from the Mark shows up, and you have suddenly found a seal missing for as long as she’s been alive?”

Græggast snorted and danced sideways beneath her. Éowyn clenched her teeth and forced herself to relax. “Easy,” she murmured.

Éomer stared at her with narrowed eyes. “You have taken her side against me?”

“I do not want to take sides,” she said. “But if Fæder did give it to her—”

“What proof do you have, hm?” Éomer clenched his fist and held it up. The silver seal glinted in the afternoon sun. “What proof do we have that Fæder ever knew she existed?”

“Peada. Peada saw them meet.”

Her brother blinked and his mouth fell open. He was almost more startled than she’d expected. “Peada?”

“That was my business with him,” Éowyn said. The words rushed out of her now, as urgent as a stampede. “Fæder went to the fords a year later, and Lord Erkenbrand made Peada go with him. Peada saw Fæder meet Gwir’s mother in the middle of the river, and she brought Gwir to him, too. He held her, Peada says. Fæder held Gwir in his arms, just like he held you and me.” Her eyes misted over; she blinked her tears away. “Gwir told me that a birthright is everything in Dunland. And she was not lying, brother. She was terrified of what would happen if she went home without it.”

Éomer scoffed. “What is there to be afraid of? Surely the whole of Dunland knows who she is.”

“ _I_ have no notion of their laws and customs! Perhaps her word is no good without it. Perhaps she would have no recourse if something were to happen to her. And before you argue that, brother, remember that you struck her, and remember that you are not the only strong man with rage in him. Lord Erkenbrand held you at bay, but who would hold an angry Dunlending back from beating Gwir to death for her blood?”

Her breath came quick by the time she was finished, and her cheeks flushed. Éomer was silent and grim, his brows drawn low over his eyes. After a minute, he glanced at the sun and turned his horse back towards Edoras. Their guards held in place until they were behind them and out of earshot again.

“I know I have erred, Éowyn,” he said at last. “But she… Her presence is repugnant to me.”

“Yes,” Éowyn said. “And yet she is not at fault.”

“No, she is not. I still do not want to see her again.”

“You needn’t, if you don’t want to. She will leave happily, if she can have her birthright back. She does not even want an apology.”

He stiffened at that. “She deserves one, though. Does she not?” When Éowyn hesitated, he bared his teeth. “She does.”

“You need not apologize, if you cannot,” she murmured.

Éomer slapped his thigh. “I am king now,” he said emphatically. “If I cannot put aside my feelings now, when she has done no wrong, how will I set them aside when I must treat with my enemies in earnest?”

Silence fell again; all Éowyn heard was the sound of the Snowbourn and the occasional sounds their horses made beneath them.

Her eyes clouded. She did not envy her brother. Their prides were similar, and setting aside her feelings to ease her weakening uncle had been a trial only passed with great help from her cousin. Théodred had taught her caution, and how better to hide herself behind a steely look. Éomer knew it all too, but he had little practice. He had ever worn his noble heart on his sleeve.

She loved him for it, yet she pitied him now. How much harder to learn when eyes were upon you! And Éomer would have to change fast. A quick temper did not sit well with lords and kings.

He was right on one matter, at least. Gwir had done no wrong. How was it, then, that so little had gone well for Gwir? Éowyn had done wrong. She had disobeyed her king and abandoned her people to ride to war—to death—and yet she had lived. Had thrived! Her grief was healed, and she had found Faramir. What had Gwir gained through all her choices?

No, that was unfair. For what had Gwir truly been free to choose other than the path she had taken? Death was not a choice she would ever have considered. She was not Éowyn, consumed from within. She was full of fight and life.

Éowyn sighed and shifted in her seat. She glanced at Éomer, wondering what he would do. His head was bowed and his eyes were nearly closed. What thoughts ran through his head now?

Not until they were on the rutted road that ran past the Snowbourn up to the gates of Edoras did Éomer speak again.

“No,” he said. “I must give her—Gwir—the courtesy she deserves.” He twisted their father’s ring around his finger once, twice, and then off. He squeezed it in his large fist and glanced at Éowyn. “She should leave, and take it with her to speed her on her way. But I will beg her pardon ere she goes.” He reached his fist out to Éowyn, and she quickly held out her gloved hand to receive the seal. “Will you arrange it with Lord Erkenbrand, sister? For tomorrow morning, early?”

“Yes,” Éowyn said. She squeezed her hand around the ring; its sharp edges pressed into her palm. “Yes, I will.”

The watchmen at the gate called, “Hail Éomer King!”

The gates of Edoras swung wide. Éowyn glanced at her brother as she rubbed the face of their father’s seal with her thumb. Éomer smiled at his people as they trotted up the road, and though she still saw a hint of worry behind his bright eyes, she felt for the first time since Gwir’s arrival fully at peace. Éomer was king, and all would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Now that it's done: I'll admit to having mixed feelings about _Lost Seal_. This story's focus has been the impact on the unsuspecting Éowyn and Éomer, and of all the main characters in this little saga, their stakes are among the lowest. The whole situation is still uncomfortable, unexpected, and shocking, especially given the high value placed on honesty in the Mark's culture. Mix that in with a good dose of childhood trauma (losing both your parents within 12 months), and I couldn't find it to be totally indifferent to them despite how Gwir has been treated.
> 
> I'm glad I was able to manage to create an ending that got Gwir back what was hers _and_ provided something of value to the others as well.


End file.
